


Smoke & Mirrors

by zephyr42



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: And then I had to write it, Caleb stealing one of Keg's cigars to have a smoke quickly became a headcanon, Episode 29 sure was something huh, Grief/Mourning, and now you all have to read it, sorry those are the rules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 08:40:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15578022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephyr42/pseuds/zephyr42
Summary: Caleb has a smoke after the events in the lair of the Iron Shepherds.





	Smoke & Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> Huge spoilers for episodes 26-29. An exploratory experiment in a story constructed from a series of drabbles.

_Time for that later._

It had been ten years since he’d felt the urge to indulge in tobacco, but when Keg left her things in the parlor in her rush to Beau’s room, his hands reached in the front pocket of the oiled leather bag and took one of their own accord. His fingers placed a silver piece where the cigar had been. Don’t steal from Keg. Nott wouldn't like it. He slid his feet back in the toes of his shoes and shuffled out to the balcony, lighting the cigar with an unsteady and absent-minded rub of his fingers.

He remembered struggling to summon the flame, needing a sharp snap of his young fingers to render even a spark. The act was simplified in his mind now, even if the flame revealed more shadows than it chased away. He took a deep breath of the smoke and steadily blew it out into the cold night air. His lungs, as expected, began to revolt, but he held some remnants of control over his tired body. He exerted it with fading determination until his lungs adjusted and he began to relax, shaking breaths mingling with the smoke in the still atmosphere.

Exhaustion had been the best escape from the grief in his past, but now he felt it sharpen and creep along the edges of his vision, causing his eyes to blur and his hearing to dull. Another smoky breath and he succumbed to it, welcoming the shudders that came with letting go. The embers at the end of the cigar flared, and he held it away from his body, wondering as they dimmed. It was mesmerizing in the same way it had been earlier. When the fire left his hands he hadn’t expected it to hit, let alone be fatal.

_There’s nothing wrong with living your life._

He’d expected to feel relief. Or vindication. Anything, really, than what he was feeling right now. It was just grief. Complicated, recursive grief. It pursued him more relentlessly than the fear that stalked him to where he was. Fear that he’d be caught. Fear that he’d be killed. Fear that he would have to go back to that life, where truth was just the lies richer men told him. Grief chased him from the dark rooms and into the open air of the world. Grief filled his lungs with smoke, then with freedom.

It was the days steeped in grief and denial that taught him how to recognize the whispers of truths of the world— _why is she still here? She gets nothing from being with me. My company isn’t worth enjoying. Another day, and she’s still beside me. Another night, and she won’t leave me. I don’t know why, but she’s still here. And that, somehow, lets me breathe a little easier._ Facts were more reliable than truth. No one needed to know them for them to be true. For now, they were together, and that was something he was beginning to accept.

_I don’t want to remember anything, I don’t want anybody else’s baggage in my head._

A slight cough as his breath caught on the smoke. Leaning on the balcony, his eyes burning, his hand wandered to the pendant around his neck. The lights of the city seemed brighter through the unshed tears. He blinked them away and wiped his face on a grubby sleeve. The warmth of the metal against his skin brought him back to reality, and it beat like a living heart against his own. Gentle as a friend’s touch and as reassuring as a loved one’s arms.

With every moment he felt his emotions steady and he let his thoughts wander back to the present. He felt his limbs, whole and hale. As he looked down at his wiggling toes through the holes in his shoes, he felt the scruff of his beard catch on his scarf. Another puff of the cigar and he tilted his head back to let his breath go straight into the night, a signal to himself of life. He was still here, still free. More or less sane. That was more than he had before, and he let that thought ground him.

_Take care of them._

“Caleb?” A shaky voice from the bright room behind him. He turned around, putting out the stub of the cigar on the parapet.

“Oh, hello Jester. _Guten Abend_.” His voice came out rusty and unused. It felt like he was speaking through a mouthful of ash. “How are you feeling?”

She stepped gingerly out into the night to stand next him, leaning her back against the rail. “Pretty shitty. Being chained up and hurt a lot is not that great, you know?”

“Believe it or not, I do know. And it is shitty, you are right.”

They looked through the doors at the others, sprawled across the room and each other. It was quiet in the room, but the noise from the tavern below ensured a lack of silence. Seeing him shiver, she opened up the blanket she’d wrapped thickly around herself, giving him half. They stood with arms barely touching, side by side.

“I’m kind of surprised you came. Is that mean to say?”

He let out a huff that could have been a laugh. “I’m kind of surprised I did, too.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“So am I.” The words he spoke surprised him.

“I miss him already.” Her voice, as ever, was transparent and honest. “He was weird, you know? But nice, in his own weird way. I think he liked us.”

“I’m pretty sure you don’t die to try and rescue people you don’t like.”

“You’re pretty sure?” Her skepticism did a poor job to veil her teasing.

“ _Ja_. I mean, maybe if you get paid to do it, but I don’t think he thought that way about saving people.” He couldn’t keep the smile from his face at her laugh. He didn’t realize he’d missed it. “Well. Not about saving us.”

“You saved us, Caleb. You and Nott and Beau, and Shakaste and Keg, too. You did that,” she said.

“I don’t even like you as much as he did, either. That just doesn’t seem right to me.”

Jester scoffed and jostled him with her elbow. “You’re just being grumpy, now.”

He shrugged. “Is… is it weird to feel like I didn’t save you?”

“Well, yeah, I did say other people helped, I didn’t give you _all_ the credit.”

“No, that’s not what I—” he sighed. “I mean he still saved you. I was just in the room and he wasn’t.”

“I don’t know what you mean, but that’s okay. I’m still going to say you saved us.”

“Okay. I guess I can’t really stop you,” he said, too tired to clarify further.

“You certainly cannot.”

“He did save us though, _ja_?”

She leaned against him, and he returned the friendly pressure. “Yeah, he did.”

He lifted one of his hands, the other grasping the wyrmwood buttons of his coat. With a soft gesture, lights burst forth, forming into a lithe figure that struck a pose before the two friends, one hand in the air and the other reaching towards them.

Jester grinned. “Here, I can make it better,” and she reached out to touch the figure as it shimmered into soft purple and garish reds, gold shining at his temples and silver spilling over his shoulder. It became a familiar shape, whole as he had once been.

Together, they held it as long as they could until the magic began to fade. The red dissipated first, then the purple, leaving the shining horns and serpent to twist around each other before blending with the stars and the moonlight.

“Long may he reign,” Caleb breathed.

“Long may he reign,” she echoed.  



End file.
